Out of the Woods…

Booth dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his forehead causing prickles of pain. Dull colors flashed beneath his eyelids in swirling funnels of smoke. Despite closing his eyes, the feeling that he would utterly screw everything up was unavoidable.

"I just don't know what to do Bones. And I know it's kind of stupid talking to you when you're asleep and can't hear me."

He gave her a glance to be sure his voice hadn't caused her to stir. He would hate to have to feel badly about waking her up when she clearly needed the rest.

"Here I am running when I'm supposed to be here the gambler brave-man and all."

Giving a sizeable sigh, Booth rolled his neck, forcing his shoulders down into a semi-relaxed state.

"I just don't know where we stand anymore. You said you loved me. Did you mean it?"

He looked down at his feet, shuffling them a bit against the tiled hospital floor.

"Yeah, when I came out of a coma I said the same thing. Did I mean it?"

Booth shook his head at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here he was, having a conversation with Bones, who just came out of a coma, now sleeping, and couldn't hear him.

"I said it, so I had to mean it."

His mouth had formed the words alright.

"Wait, that's not right."

If everything he said was true, well then Santa and the Easter Bunny had some explaining to do for Parker. And this was before the kid had hair growing under his arms.

"I've lied before."

Not able to take it anymore, Booth headed for the door. After all, she was asleep.

"Damn it Bones," he muttered before opening the door, and closing it quietly behind him.

He headed straight for the parking lot, setting a brisk walking pace. Why did they have to keep the parking lots so far away from the building? He navigated the corridors the ever confusing signs, side-stepping gurneys and weeping families at what seemed like every turn. Finally he made it outside. The air was fresh, and lacked the reek of sickness he always hated in medical facilities.

The ring of his phone broke this simple enjoyment.

"Special Agent Booth," he answered without looking at the caller ID.

"It's Cam, we've got a case."

A grimace crossed his features, "But Bones isn't out of the hospital yet."

"I can't control when the police find badly decomposed bodies in the ground. And if I could, I guarantee I would never be called off my vacations for work…I'm texting you the address."

Booth slid into his car, flipping the call to speaker and glancing at the incoming text from Cam. It was in Northeast D.C., and not a great neighborhood at that. "I'm getting in my car now, I was visiting Bones. Can we do the crime scene investigation and then hold the forensic stuff until we get Bones in the lab?"

"Why?"

"Come on Cam," he started the car, "the body has probably been in the ground for months. We can easily take a few weeks to get the team ready and firing on all cylinders again."

"That might take more than a few weeks with Dr. Brennan's injuries." She paused. "Look, I know you don't want to go on without her, I get that, I really do. But she wouldn't want our work to stop on her account."

"Don't try to guess what she would want," a bit of strain edged into his voice as he pulled out of the lot.

"Look, I'm meeting you at the scene, and I'm bringing Hodgins and Mr. Bray. We can do this without Brennan. I'll see you there." Cam hung up.

"No we can't," he muttered into the dead line.


Traffic in the Washington D.C. Metro area was surprisingly light as Booth navigated his way to the scene. God seemed to be smiling upon him today. Seeing the D.C. Police blockade further up the street, he pulled his badge out of his jacket and rolled down his window.

"This is a crime scene-"

"Exactly why I'm here," he flashed his badge.

The female officer nodded. "Officer Shane. The scene is a bit further up; the blockade has the place surrounded two blocks around. Not exactly the best neighborhood and all."

Booth nodded in assent, as he slid from his car. He broke into a brisk pace, charging in front of Shane.

She jogged up to him, "The body was discovered-"

"No offense, but I'll take the briefing from my people."

"Someone's touchy," she stopped as he continued pressing forward.

The Officer was right, not exactly the best neighborhood, then again, a lot of D.C. wasn't the greatest. The crime scene encompassed area was all single family homes generally in modest disrepair. In one of the front yards, the familiar sight of the blue Jeffersonian field work jumpsuits drew him in.

"What are we dealing with?"

"Hello to you too," Cam stood up from a crouched position over the body. "Body was discovered this morning, dug up by some neighborhood dogs."

"I've already checked them for particulate matter," Hodgins interjected.

"And pretty recently dead too by the look of him," Cam cut back in.

Booth took a few steps closer to the body, "What do we have on him?"

"Looks to be Caucasian male in his mid-twenties, about five-eight for height. Still pretty fleshy, so Dr. Brennan wouldn't have been pleased anyway."

He visibly tensed at the mention of her name.

"Judging by witnesses, he was buried just a day or two ago, but rate of decomposition suggests otherwise."

"Something might have been speeding it up," Wendell walked over.

Hodgins smiled, rubbing his hands together, "We'll I'll be sure to check it out when we get back to the lab. I already have ample soil samples."

"Great," the FBI Agent took a few steps back. "Send it all back to the lab, blah blah blah, call me if you have any developments," he began the walk back to his car.

"Where are you going," Hodgins took a step or two after him.

"Lunch date. I've got nothing else to do here."


"I thought you said you didn't have to work this Saturday?" Hannah raised an eyebrow as Booth slid into the chair across from her.

He frowned, "I didn't, but dead bodies love to show up when I have other plans."

"I ordered for you by the way."

"Great."

She seemed to sense his uneasiness, "Probably weird going to the scene of a crime without your partner there."

"Yeah…" he looked down at the table, fiddling with the sugar packet container.

"I know she's going through a lot with her injuries."

"Not even half of the issue," he shook his head and looked up at her. He could see in her eyes she wanted him to continue; to spill his guts and commit emotionally, and etcetera.

When he didn't continue, Hannah sat back in her chair, arms crossed. "Why won't you tell me these sorts of things?"

"It's not that at all-"

"Well you have to be talking to someone. Is it Dr. Sweets?"

"No," he said a bit too strongly, catching her aback in the flare of emotion.

"There's nothing wrong with that Seeley. I know all the stats on soldiers and therapy after a tour from the article I wrote."

"This is not about my tour of duty in Afghanistan."

"Then what is it about?" She replied, clearly exasperated.

An icy silence crept over the table, ruining what remained of what was supposed to be a pleasant weekday lunch; Hannah stared at him but he couldn't quite meet her steeled eyes.

The server interrupted the heated non-exchange, dropping two cheeseburgers off at the table. Neither person moved to touch the plate in front of them.

"I'm not going to just drop this Seeley," she leaned forward.

Booth's jaw tightened, "Bones."

"What?"

"It's about Bones, okay?"

He watched her nod slowly; whether this was in agreement or something else entirely, not even Sweets would be able to tell.

"You've been spending a lot of time with her lately," she said slowly.

Well, this wasn't entirely true. He had spent time with her immediately after the accident and today. But he had spend a good deal of time lying about spending time with her. Somehow he didn't think that revealing this fact would work out in his favor.

"Don't I always?" Booth asked.

She nodded slowly again.

"Bones is in the hospital. She's going through a lot. She needs someone to talk to."

"And that person has to be you?"

"Who else?"

Hannah paused for a few moments. "And you're helping?"

"Yes."

"Do you know for sure how she feels about having you around?"

This time it was Booth's turn to pause. "I haven't asked her about it."

"I know that asking her how she feels is like asking a colorblind kid what color his shirt is-"

"Seriously?" He didn't even try to conceal his anger.

"What are you colorblind?"

"No, I was a sniper in the Army. Of course I'm not colorblind."

"Then what's wrong with that," Hannah refolded her arms.

He shook his head, "Are you saying that Bones doesn't feel?"

"No no," she backpedaled. "She's just…a bit cold you know?"

She's Iceland. Cold on the surface…

"No I don't," he sighed. "Look, you were probably right to cut us off. I really don't think this will work," he dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table. "This is just too much for me."

He left without looking back.


Brennan woke up gradually, her senses turning on one by one until at last she opened her eyes. Soft light of the afternoon filtered through the partially blinded window that offered an incredibly scenic view of the hospital's parking lot. Or at least, Angela had told her so; her bed was not of sufficient height to allow the viewing angle required to see said parking lot.

The room was empty, save her. Silent also, save the pulse monitor clipped to a finger, the machine emitting beeps at regular intervals. The chair Booth occupied earlier that morning remained pulled up along the bed, its emptiness strangely aching. Despite the abundance of visitors she had received (and certainly not always eagerly), Booth's presence was clearly the most missed.

Her mouth dry and no water in reach, Brennan tapped the nurse call button once. She longed for the independence she had before the accident, both physically and emotionally. Physically, therapy and an exercise regimen would restore her to health at or just below her original level. Emotionally, well, only time would tell.

"You rang Temperance?" the now very familiar Nurse Megan stepped through the door. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

She shook her head, "Just thirsty."

Megan stepped in to the hall, her long red pony-tailed hair whipping behind her. She stepped back in, a small water bottle in hand as she twisted the top off and handed it to the anthropologist, dropping the cap gently to the over-bed tray.

"Thanks," Brennan took a greedy swig of the liquid. She couldn't help but notice that she wasn't given the opportunity to open the bottle herself, despite the gains she had made to her dexterity.

"Looks like your boyfriend left his jacket here," the nurse pulled the well worn leather coat off a hanger on the door and dropped it to the chair.

"He's not my boyfriend," she automatically corrected.

"Friend and boy, so technically not incorrect," she smiled, trying to make light of the matter.

Even with his jacket a foot or two away, Brennan couldn't help but get a faint whiff of Booth's characteristic scent.

The olfactory sense is incredibly primitive; it's nerve running close by the amygdala and hippocampus which are responsible for emotion and memory respectively. Just as the pungent aroma of formaldehyde transports her back ever so briefly to her first cadaver dissection, the smell of Booth brought forth a torrent of feelings, thoughts, and ideas she couldn't quite consciously digest all at once.

"Tomorrow we'll be moving you to the hospital rehabilitation facility," Megan said, braking Brennan's train of thought. "It's just down the road, not connected to the main building, but still in the same hospital complex."

"How long will my stay there be?"

"Well, it will of course depend all on the progress you make there. But, seeing how well you've down in your therapy here, I'd say maybe two weeks or so. But don't quote me on that, I'm not a rehab nurse of course!" The nurse's pager beeped. "Duty calls, tap the button again if you need something," she left, closing the door gently behind her.

Brennan looked back at Booth's coat; he would have to come back and get it. Maybe she really was going to be able to escape from these woods.


There you go folks! Chugging along to our final destination!

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